


152. Dinner in Fiji

by alleyoops, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Sam Worthington and Ryan Kwanten [152]
Category: Actor RPF, Australian Actor RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), True Blood RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 08:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10737618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alleyoops/pseuds/alleyoops, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica





	152. Dinner in Fiji

Even in the formal dining room, the dress code at the Citadel resort in Fiji is pretty relaxed. Ryan is wearing a short-sleeved blue dress shirt and khaki pants, no tie, and he might even be considered dressed up considering the state of some of the other patrons. On Sam's instructions, the shirt is tucked in. Ryan fists and relaxes his hands as the hostess shows them to their table on the water, leading them past scores of other guests. The dining room is nearly full tonight.

Sam's given in to the need to dress up with black pants and a black linen shirt but the shirt's loose and he's damned if he's wearing anything other than sandals, although these ones happen to be black leather. "This is perfect," he says, once they're seated, taking a good look around. They're pretty much centre stage and later, when he makes good on his promise, all eyes'll be on Ryan.

"Yeah?" Ryan glances up at his lover before opening his menu and dropping his gaze again. He's on edge, knowing what's inevitably coming, but with no idea of how long Sam will draw out the torment of anticipation. "Maybe tomorrow we could go jet-skiing. Have you ever been?"

Sam nods, checking out his own menu. "Not in a while though. You?"

"Yeah. A few times." Ryan chews on his bottom lip, then closes his menu. He watches his lover in silence for a long moment, just admiring him. He's proud to be here with Sam, wearing Sam's collar. His ring. "I love you," he whispers, because there are times when he simply can't help telling him.

Sam glances up from his menu. "I love you too," he whispers back. "You look gorgeous, by the way."

Ryan glances down, then shrugs. Nothing special. Not like his lover. "So do you. All fancied up."

Sam laughs. "You're just glad I got rid of the mullet. First we had the caveman, then we had the slight mullet, then the full deal. Thank god I didn't meet you with any of those haircuts. You wouldn't have given me a second look," he teases.

"It is kind of lucky you weren't trying to work the Zach Galifianakis look just then," Ryan admits, a grin tugging irrepressibly at his lips. "About five years ago I went through this weird surfer boy phase. My hair was all shaggy and bleached-out. Would you still have invited me back to your room?"

"Yeah, I would have," Sam says without hesitation. "It wouldn't have mattered what your hair looked like. You would've reeled me in with your smile."

A blush starts creeping up from Ryan's collar and he ducks his head on an abashed smile. "So that's what did it," he murmurs, toying with his silverware. "It wasn't my abs, or my ass, or the incredible slut factor..."

Sam laughs. "I think the slut factor might have made it into play on my part," he says, "but I couldn't see your ass and your abs... well, they're hot, but they're not your smile, or your eyes." He grins.

Ryan heaves an aggrieved sigh. "All those push-ups for nothing..." He laughs, grinning right back at his lover.

"Someone's got to keep in shape," Sam says. "Better you than me," he adds, eyes sparkling.

Snickering, Ryan shakes his head. "I'll keep you in shape," he promises, and it's only edged with a threat... He grins as their waiter arrives at Sam's side, and waits for Sam to make his choices before ordering a Polynesian beef flambe for himself -- after checking that his food will actually still be on fire when it gets to their table, of course.

"But I like letting myself go a little between shoots," Sam protests when the waiter leaves, only half-joking.

"Just so long as you're still powerful enough to fuck my brains out on a regular basis," Ryan murmurs, leaning in close and dropping his voice out of habit. 

"Oh I promise I'll stay fit enough to do that," Sam grins. "Even when I'm eighty."

The image of Sam at eighty - no doubt just as formidable as he is now - tickles Ryan, and he takes advantage of their surroundings to brush his lips over his lover's. "You promise, huh? I'll hold you to that."

"Good, because I plan to have a cane just so I can beat you with it," Sam teases, thrilled with being able to be so open with Ryan.

Ryan laughs out loud, unable to keep it quiet. He's still trailing off to snickers when their drinks arrive at the table, and he can only nod his thanks.

Sam grins and glances around. "We need to do this more often," he says. "Get away somewhere we can actually be together without worrying about touching each other."

"Yeah, it's really awesome," Ryan agrees. He reaches out and casually links his fingers with Sam's, resting their hands on the tablecloth. "And the view..." he sighs, pure relaxation flooding him as he looks out at the water, gently lapping the dock only a couple meters from where they're sitting.

"Yeah." Sam nods, rubbing his thumb over Ryan's fingers. "Although our own view's pretty fantastic." Not that they get to see nearly as much of it as he'd like.

"That's for sure." Ryan grins, but then his smile tilts a little, growing introspective. "Do you ever worry that things are too good? That, like, in the back of your mind you're just waiting for everything to crash down?"

"Not really," Sam has to admit. He doesn't know whether that makes him confident or stupid. "But I'm assuming you do."

"Not usually." Ryan blows out a breath, and picks up his wineglass with his free hand to take a sip. "Just... sometimes. It all hits me, and stuns me, and makes me stop and wonder how I ever could have done anything good enough to deserve all this. To deserve you." Because all the luxuries - the money, the travel, the gifts - they'd all be empty trappings without Sam at their center.

"We got lucky, meeting each other in Citadel that day," Sam says. "And even luckier, I guess, when I decided to stop being an idiot and go after you."

"I thought I was the genius who went after you." Ryan grins, squeezing Sam's fingers, then relents. "All right. We both get credit." 

"Yeah, we do," Sam says, squeezing back. He grins. "I still can't believe you just packed up and came to Australia with me."

Ryan shrugs, and presses Sam's fingers to his lips. "Can't believe you let me." He hadn't even hesitated at the prospect of following Sam halfway around the world. "I just wanted you."

Sam nods. "And I wasn't gonna risk having you change your mind on me again," he teases.

Grinning, Ryan licks at Sam's fingertips. Then he goes back for more, sucking his lover's middle finger into his mouth. 

Groaning softly, Sam feels his cock responding eagerly. "You don't really want to sit through dinner with wet trousers, do you?"

Noting the warning in Sam's voice, Ryan lets him go. "Sorry," he whispers, smiling. "I just love the way you taste."

"Nothing to be sorry about," Sam says, leaning over the table to kiss Ryan again. "But I can't be held responsible for what I might do if you keep doing it."

God, those words. Ryan swallows a moan, and a pulse of lust throbs in his cock. He wants to climb into Sam's lap and just rub against him. "Yes, Sir," he whispers, dropping his gaze. He needs to fucking well pace himself.

Fuck. Sam's _thisclose_ to ordering Ryan to give him his mouth when their food arrives. "Just in the nick of time," he murmurs, eyeing Ryan's flaming beef. "That looks good." Smells incredible too and his stomach grumbles, a firm reminder of which appetites need satisfying first.

Blinking, Ryan attempts to refocus on their surroundings. He sits back and admires the flames rising from his entree, then nods for the waiter to douse the food. Sam's right, it's a damn good distraction, particularly when he was so damn close to slipping right down into headspace.

Sam digs into his grilled shrimp and groans with pleasure. "I swear," he says, trying the spiced rice as well. "I've never had a bad meal at Citadel, not one. I don't know how they manage that because even at my favourite local places, they have an occasional off night every once in a while."

"You know what else is funny about it?" Ryan asks, leaping onto the distraction. "The head chefs they hire... they're never going to get written up in the Michelin guides or whatever, because of the confidentiality clauses. They'll never get any glory or recognition for what they're doing." He cuts his meat and sniffs appreciatively. "It's lucky they can find so many talented people who'll take a nice paycheck but don't have big egos."

"I guess they get known within the club," Sam says. "Maybe that's enough. Or they're kinky fucks too and the free membership means more to them." He grins.

Ryan snickers. "The kinky fuck factor, eh? They certainly do find some good people that way," he says, thinking of Dan. He reaches across the table and spears one of Sam's shrimp with his fork. As good as his meal is, he pretty much always regrets it when he doesn't order seafood.

Sam laughs at the poaching and does some of his own, scooping a bit of beef from Ryan's plate. "Mm. Oh god, that's good. I should have that," he says. "But I guess I can have it tomorow night." He grins again, the remainder of the week still stretched out before them.

"Yeah." Ryan rubs his lips and smiles, just watching his lover for a long moment. "I want to spend a few hours on the beach tomorrow," he says, lifting his wineglass for a sip. "Not doing anything in particular. Just because I can."

"Just don't get sunburned if you decide to go naked," Sam says.

Ryan grins and raises an eyebrow. "Will you rub sunscreen all over me?"

"All over you?" Sam grins back.

"Are you suggesting some bits of me are less important than others? I'm hurt." Ryan tries, but he just can't force a convincing pout. "I'll make it worth your while."

"Not at all. I was thinking all over you might end up being very very detailed," Sam says, slipping his sandal off and sliding his foot up the inside of Ryan's leg. "Especially since we wouldn't want your tattoo fading..."

"Definitely not," Ryan mutters, glancing down at his lap. He's abruptly aware once more of all the other people in the restaurant, Sam's promise never far from his mind this evening.

"Am I disturbing your meal?" Sam asks casually, sliding his foot higher, between Ryan's thighs.

"No, Sir," Ryan says softly, deliberately laying his hands flat on the table. "I was finished."

"Good." Sam shifts, rubbing his foot over Ryan's crotch, watching his boy's face.

Shutting his eyes, Ryan swallows a moan. Fuck, this is _wrong_ , and he loves it. He shifts slightly on his chair, pressing into the wicked touch.

"Tell me when you're close, boy," Sam orders, working his foot against Ryan's cock through his khakis.

Ryan drops his hands to his sides, clenching his fingers tightly. His breath comes faster now, harsher, and he can't help the way he rocks his hips. He doesn't know if anyone happens to be watching them, but if so... well, it's pretty fucking obvious. "Close, Sir," he gasps, warning tingles shooting up his spine.

"Good," Sam says again before pulling his foot away, "but you don't really think I'm going to make it that easy, do you?" He grins, stretching his leg out beside the table and wriggling his toes. "Get down there and rub yourself off. Hands behind your back."

Shocked, Ryan snaps his gaze up. _Oh god_. He feels like he's moving underwater when he slips from his chair to the floor, kneeling beside Sam. It takes him a moment to work through the mechanics, and his face feels like it's on fire when he lies down on his side, curling up around Sam's bare foot. He squeezes his eyes shut as he angles his hips and starts to rub against Sam's foot. Because if anyone's watching them _now_ , he really doesn't want to know about it.

"That's it," Sam murmurs, holding his foot still for Ryan. "That's my dirty little slut."

Ryan fists his hands tightly together behind his back to make sure he doesn't slip and use them to brace himself. The position is so awkward, and he shifts around, trying to find the right spot, until he ends up nearly lying on top of Sam's foot, ass in the air as he dry-humps his sir. Like a dog.

"C'mon, boy. You can do it," Sam urges, so fucking hard he can barely breathe.

God, Sam's voice -- there's no sexier sound in the world. Ryan whimpers and rubs harder, his body flushing hot with lust. "Please," he gasps after what seems like an eternity, but has probably been less than a minute with how charged-up he is. "Oh god, please, Sir. Please let your boy come."

Fuck. Ryan begging like that gets to Sam like crazy every fucking time. He nods. "Yeah. Do it. Come for me, boy." His eyes flickering between Ryan's face and crotch.

Ryan shifts slightly to get the angle just right, Sam's bare foot warm and solid. And he comes, spurting in his khakis, moaning when the wet fabric slips over his cock and intensifies everything further.

"Fuck, yeah, that's it," Sam says, moving his foot against Ryan's cock, stroking him through the aftershocks. "Good boy."

With a whimper Ryan slowly kneels up, careful to still keep his hands behind his back. His cheeks are flaming like he has a fever. He is fucking _mortified_ , his skin crawling beneath the gazes of what feels like a hundred curious strangers.

"C'mere," Sam says softly, motioning for Ryan to come closer, hand sliding into his lover's hair the moment he does, tugging his head in against his lap. "They'll all go back to what they were doing in a minute."

Grateful for the mercy, Ryan rubs his hot cheek against Sam's thigh, soothing himself. And he lets himself sink into comfort, sliding his hands up to cup Sam's hips and losing himself in the feeling of his lover petting him.


End file.
